Equals
by gracessecret
Summary: The fight never truly stops. There is always something. So, is there peace on Earth? More importantly, can she find it? A conventional story about unconventional people. A story about testing the ability of a heart to heal. Can it do it once? Twice? When is the breaking point? Dramione, M(MA), Post-Hogwarts, Post-war


Chapter 1- The Uproar

* * *

Hermione always thought that silence was underrated. Even when she was just a little girl, she much preferred staying in and reading a book or driving on her bicycle to a creek a few miles away from her home than playing with the neighbour kids. There is something about being alone with your thoughts that can never compare to a company of another person. Her mother used to say it was because none of the other kids were on a par with her, and she might have been right. Not many children- or even adults for that matter- could hold up in a conversation with the witty, clever girl. Either the other person felt threatened by her superior intellect and observational powers or they simply did not share mutually enjoyable topics, the latter being the case with her parents who couldn't provide her with a stimulating conversations once she had gone to study at Hogwarts.

That is not to say she wasn't sociable- on the contrary. She had many friends in her life. From famous Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and eventually defeated the darkest wizard ever know in the wizarding history to Ronald Weasley, the ever so faithful sidekick of the aforementioned wunderkind and many more friends beside the pair, even though some of them never survived the battles, she refused to leave them out of her friend list, which was thin as it was.

After the war, she thought about death often enough- or what came afterwards more specifically. She wasn't quite sure if she believed in God. The whole concept of Christianity was slightly off-putting, with their unyielding devotion and dogmas, and she couldn't help but feel slight resentment towards muggle borns who turned extremely- bonoxiously so- religious after the war. She found it very hypocritical and it was beyond her why Justin Finch-Fletchley preferred to lick altars every Sunday, so to speak, than go visit Lanvander's grave every now and then. He often said that surviving the war changed his life and put a new perspective on things and that God helped him survive. But Hermione knew better.

Lav sacrificed herself for him that day. Hermione saw it. She wasn't even sure they were friends and yet she took an Avada with his name on it.

But, that's the thing about wars, she supposed. You are just a number. It was funny how, normally when a person dies, there is a big funeral and so many weeping friends, members of family, acquaintances even, gathered in this place where they mourn your death, but she will never forget the funeral of Colin Creevey, nor will the other five people in attendance that day, she was sure. The priest was reluctant to start the mass, waiting in vain for more than the miserable handful of people that came, but no one ever showed. She later learned Ron stayed in bed for the good part of that same day while Harry and Ginny simply forgot. They felt terrible afterwards, she could tell-they were too squeezed after the battle to come, of course- but she simply couldn't help that small part of her that hated them for it.

Hermione went to every funeral- big or small, of a friend or of an acquaintance, and even the funeral of a person she most certainly did not consider worth time of her day. But faith always did love to play with her, and so she reluctantly found herself being the third person in attendance to the funeral of Lucius Malfoy.

She often thought about that day. She had just visited Fred's grave and was on her way back when she heard a female sob echo through the trees that shielded the graveyard from onslaughts from the sky.

It was just a short but fairly loud and emotional sob that travelled through her ears. She had heard her share of sobs as of late, but this one was just a single cry. At the funeral, they all sort of blend together and it just seems so natural to hear, but right then, being surrounded by so much silence and stillness, the voice made every hair on her body stand, like little soldiers.

Her feet carried her without asking permission and she soon found herself being observed by two sets of eyes. The first ones were blue, very pale. Red rims and slightly puffed skin surrounding them, beautifully accentuating blue tinges that made them look hauntingly beautiful told her that Narcissa Malfoy must have been crying.

Her gaze shifted and she looked to Narcissa's right where a pair of stormy grey eyes bore into her's. She hadn't seen Draco for years now, it seemed. Everyone knew he and his mother dear fled England right before start of the war, thus betraying Voldemort. Talk around the wizarding community was that he took vengeance on them by torturing Lucius for days inside the manor, sending them vials of his extracted memory to see what their betrayal did to Lucius, to see how much he suffers because of them. But they never came back. It was two years after the Final battle, so Hermione supposed Lucius had somehow managed to survive. Until now, that is.

She could only imagine the look of shock on her pale face, sensing the current of a light breeze entering the cavern of her slightly parted mouth. She schooled her expression by clasping her mouth shut and lifting her chin up with a mouth pressed into a line.

The two of them stood alone and silent. Dirt covered two thirds of the pit of Lucius' grave and she could see that Draco was using his wand to burry his own father. If it weren't Malfoy, it'd be sad.

Hermione wasn't sure if they wanted to be the only ones in attendance or if no one simply cared enough to come. She supposed it was the latter. The Malfoys, once extremely powerful and wealthy, were now at the bottom of the social latter. She worked for the Ministry as an Auror for a year now and was quite familiar with their case. The manor in Wiltshire had been confiscated for the time being, but should soon be handed back to them once all suspicious and/or dark artefacts are brought to the ministry by the Aurors working on the case. They voluntarily gave a small fortune for rebuilding Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, but the name was tarnished and no amount of money could fix that. She heard something about Malfoy filing a request for a position as an Auror, but if it hadn't made it to her, the person who did the psychological evaluation of every potential Auror, she supposed he was never even considered for the job. Which made sense to her perfectly.

The silence stretched long enough and she decided she would be above them once again and do the humane thing.

She shifted uncomfortably in her place before taking a few steps in their direction. Their eyes were unmoving as she began to speak.

Hermione first looked to the older, blond woman „Mrs. Malfoy" and then, with much more difficulty than she had expected, her eyes caught Malfoy's once more „Malfoy."

She gave them a moment to react, to call her a Mudblood for old times sake and throw a few hexes her way for dishonouring the sacred moment of theirs, but they hardly moved a muscle. She thought she saw Narcissa blink once, but she wasn't quite sure.

„I want to express my condolences."

For a moment there, she thought they would turn their heads and ignore whatever she just said, but then Narcisaa forced a small smile and nodded politely in gratitude.

„Thank you dear, though I am sure you are hardly affected by his death."

With that, she turned her back to Hermione and stepped closer to gaze upon an imposing black-marble headstone bearing only the name of the late Malfoy and the date that he died on.

Draco, however, said nothing, but she was able to catch a microscopic nod that he gave her before once again putting his wand to use and continuing to cover the grave with moist dirt while Hermione turned away and disappeared behind the bushes.

* * *

The sound of curses being cast and deflected registered as soon as she stepped into the barrier of the silencing spell. Training grounds for new Aurors was not much far – which Hermione was extremely grateful for. Since the ministry put ant-apparation wards on the whole forest, they were all forced to walk to the training grounds. A warm-up, Harry called it.

She and Harry were in charge of training new Aurors now, since they were deemed the best. She never knew who passed that judgement or why they thought she of all Aurors deserved the recognition, but she would not protest. She really loved her job, except for walking that is. The magic had the tendency of spoiling you.

It was almost ten years since the war was officially over, but the fight never really ended. There were no death eaters of Voldemort sympathizers around anymore, but it took some time to solve all the crimes that were committed during the war and for the trials to be over. Almost eight years, to be precise, and still there was no peace in sight.

A year ago, a civil war in the wizarding France had begun. It all started with a few formal protesters that took upon calling themselves 'The Reformists'. The group soon turned much more radical than anyone had anticipated and in no time, it became an all out battle. The British wizarding ministry was quick to assist over-water neighbours and in a span of only two months, the Reformists withdrew and the fighting seemingly stopped. The battle was not without its consequences, however, and many lives, both british and french, have been lost.

About two months ago, they have been informed by the French ministry of new-found activities involving the Reformists. Apparently, they begun filling their ranks anew and prepared for another attack.

A week ago, the Reformists sent out a public letter, promising the people of France they will retreat under one condition- fair, democratic elections.

Hermione was of muggle descent and knew all about what the Reformists were asking of their Ministry, but the wizarding world almost never held democratic elections where entire-the part that qualified, at least-wizarding community voted in the election of their representative. The french ministry then issued a public letter of their own in which they stated there was no room for blackmail in France and that the acceptance of those terms would be an insult to 'every man, woman and child with a drop of wizarding blood coursing through their veins', as they so eloquently put it. Hermione almost revisited her breakfast after reading the overly dramatic article poorly translated in the british version of The Prophet, though it did get the general message across, she supposed.

The Reformists were quick to act and in response, they decided to bombard shops in a street Hermione always found an equivalent to the Diagon Alley. Several shops were devastated, but fortunately, there were no casualties, although some of the occupants were still treated in their main hospital.

Before she knew it, Hermione found herself on a clearing where the young Aurors were being trained. Today, it had been Harry and Draco who did the honours.

Draco Malfoy.

He joined the Auror ranks five years ago. She remembered him sending requests to join almost every month and one day, she walked in on Harry dueling him in one of the test rooms.

He hadn't been particularly good, at least not compared to Harry who ranked number one in the office, so it was to be expected. Though, she was surprised how well he did his written exams, scoring almost perfect. She was the one who conducted his psychiatric evaluations. She expected.. Well, she did not remember what she honestly expected out of that interview, but nothing good for certain. At first, she did not want to be alone in the room with him, but seeing as that intwrview was designed to make the interviewee sweat and spill his darkest, most intimate secrets.. Well, the thought of humiliating Draco Malfoy was definitely something she was secretly looking forward to since that time in the second year he called her a Mudblood for the first time. As per usual, when it came to Malfoy, faith had been cruel to Hermione.

From the moment she took her seat at the desk and across Malfoy, officially beginning the interview, he domineered the conversations. She expected reluctancy on his part, seeing as how he was to open up mentally to one person he detested, but he had no problem sharing his story with her. For every question, no matter how personal or even on occasion painful and/or humiliating it was, he had an instantaneous answer ready. He spoke with confidence and meeting her gaze head on. By the end, she was the one who dried her sweaty hands on fabric of her trousers. It was more than odd to look at Malfoy after everything that happened, after so many years. She, once again, remembered the day of Lucius' funeral. So much has changed from then on. The Malfoys were once again 'rich and fabulous,' and Draco was deemed bachelor number one in wizarding world after the sum he possessed in his vaults at Gringotts was revealed. That quickly changed after he decided to give all of it up, down to the last sickle.

Most of the money was used to rebuild and modernise Hogwarts, a part of the sum went to shop owners who's goods was damaged during the war and a small portion even made its way to Hermione's S.P.E.W. organization.

The witches in The daily Prophet deemed him unworthy as of that moment and Hermione would later find out after a bit of eaves dropping that Draco would happily live as a beggar if it meant he not be mention anymore in that 'horse-shite of a yellow press'. It made Hermione laugh and also, she couldn't help but regard him with some sort of secret admiration. Not many people wished to be less popular. Excluding herself and Harry, she found that war heroes usually enjoyed their fame, although you could hardly call Malfoy a war hero.

„Hermione, are you all right?"

Harry lifted his left, bushy brow high on his forehead, waiting for Hermione to stop staring into blank space like a lunatic.

She shook her head and began to apologize. „Sorry, it's been a long night."

He was hardly convinced by her poor lying skills, but didn't seem to care if she lied or not.

„Yes, these are tough times. Did you need anything?"

„Yes" she nodded before continuing „I would like to speak to you and Malfoy in private."

That caused Malfoy to finally acknowledge her presence and turn his head over his shoulder to regard her.

„What is this about, Granger? I have some business immediately after training so.."

„Oh, your work table didn't say anything when I checked."

They all had those silly tables where they kept their schedules public, so that at every moment, another Auror could know where you are and how to reach you if necessary.

He narrowed his eyes. „It is a private arrangement and-„

„Well then" she interrupted „it doesn't matter, really. Reschedule."

She turned on her heel and left for the cottage where the trainees ate and had rooms for rest and bathrooms. She could feel his searing gaze full of malice on her retreating form. It was the same look he always gave her when she would force her authority upon him. She was still of higher rank than he was, though she knew as well as he did it was just because she was an Auror longer than him. They were equally capable, but it didn't matter. Not in this case.

It took him and Harry fifteen minutes to enter the kitchen area where she waited for them to wrap it up with the recruits. Harry went for a cupboard with glasses and Malfoy for the fridge. Harry set three glasses on the tabletop while Malfoy proceeded to pour, Hermione suspected, pumpkin juice into them. When he finished, he returned the pitcher back to its place in the fridge and pushed one of the glasses in her direction before meeting her gaze.

He looked annoyed and impatient, and Hermione wondered what he had planned afterwards. What was so bloody important?

„Well, Granger, here we are. Start talking."

Hermione shifted in her chair, not liking the commanding tone he used to address her, but she will let it slide just because she too wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.

„Right, well. I have some news. Poulain has been attacked. The french Ministry came to a decision that it would be the safest for now if she be relocated here."

Harry's eyes visibly widened while Malfoy started laughing.

„They can't be serious. They want to send their minister, the number one target, to Britain. What in Godrick's name is Kingsley thinking?" Malfoy asked, confusion obvious in his voice.

Hermione once again repositioned herself in the, ergonomically speaking, abomination of a chair.

„I agree. The last thing we need is another war here. But the deed is done, she is to arrive in an hour's time, so go wash up, she expressed the desire to meet you, Harry. You are to be her personal bodyguard."

She and Malfoy shared a laugh at the way Harry banged his head softly against the kitchen counter.

* * *

It was early autumn and she once again found herself traipsing through the graveyard. She had broken the habit some time ago, but something about graveyard made her head clearer than water. Two months have passed since the french minister was relocated to a safe location inside wizarding Britain and it all went downhill from there. Not two days after her arrival, their own 'peaceful' protesters appeared in front of the Ministry. Their numbers grew from twenty to two hundred in ten days and only a week ago the bombing started. They destroyed Borgin and Burkes, but other shops were more or less salvageable.

All of it made Hermione anxious. It reminded her too much of the war almost ten years ago. She never wanted to go back, she never wanted to experience what she had all those years ago.

Back then, when the mental and physical wounds were still fresh and the air was heavy with the scent of smoke and death, the graveyard was her safe place. The only place in the wizarding England where she could find some calm and peace. Ginny once told her she was crazy for visiting graveyard that much, but it didn't bother her. She was crazy. They all were. They survived the biggest battle known in the wizarding history and it left them all scarred, think anything but that is lying to yourself.

Quietness really was underrated, wasn't it? Well, in times like these, more like underappreciated.

* * *

Hermione was appalled by the sight in front of her.

Simone Poulaine spoke with a heavy french accent, making Harry furrow his brow and repeat 'I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that' enough times to make Hermione spontaneously burst out laughing.

Before she could be spotted, however, she fled behind a thick curtain that hung all the way from the ceiling and pooled on the floor. The french bint was dumber than . Besides being barely able to utter a single word in English that actually sounded like the language, she had that daft aura about her. Her manners were appalling, visible primarily by the way she stuffed herself with food using fingers and only fork on occasion, and she hung on Harry's shoulder for most of the evening, making him extremely uncomfortable.

These kind of gatherings were not Hermione's thing, but it was okay when she had Harry or Ron to keep her company. Right now, Harry was obviously engaged elsewhere and Ron was Godrick knows where. She caught sight of Malfoy from the corner of her left eye and by the looks of it, he made sure to use the perks of a party with an open bar. He downed what seemed to be dark amber of Firewhiskey like it was pumpkin juice. He turned slowly, undoubtedly sensing her eyes on him and they shared 'the look'.

They hung out sometimes when they would get drunk.

He was not horrible to talk to, quite on the contrary. The conversations they shared were always very stimulating and Hermione always found herself easily engrossed in whichever topic they decided to discuss. She always wondered why can't it be this easy for them to talk to each other while sober, but maybe the pride they both felt prevented them from sharing a few sentences that were not insults or of business like nature.

He stood shakily while motioning for the bartender to fill two glasses, which he took after they've been filled and he started stalking in her direction.

A small laugh escaped her lips once she saw how badly he tried to maintain his balance, avoiding by-passers and waiters holding trays filled with drinks. He somehow managed to gallivant to her general area and motioned with the nod of his head towards the balcony. He exited first and she followed.

„Fucking hell, this Firewhiskey is some good quality shit." He mumbled.

„That doesn't mean you should drink a whole crate of it. Self-control is the key. You should practice it."

He downed the liquid in one of the glasses he was holding and extended his other arm towards her. Hermione took the offered glass and poured the whiskey down her throat. It burned so good.

„Almost forgot you drink like a man." he mocked.

She winked and gave him a small smirk „One of us has to."

He returned the smirk „Touche."

He leaned to look to the garden, bracing his forearms on the intricate design of the brass railing.

„Have you talked already with Poulaine?"

Hermione followed his lead and assumed a similar position.

„No, but I heard more than enough from when she was talking to Harry. Well, trying to talk to Harry, I should say. I mean, really, how hard it is to learn English? It is the most popular, widespread language in the entire world. Honestly, it is almost ridiculous to think she can speak only French. She is a minister, for Godrick's sake."

„Couldn't agree more „ he cleared his throat before continuing „Just out of curiosity, do you speak French?"

Hermione knew he was only trying to ridicule her, not really expecting her to know the language.

Not today, ferret.

„I speak french fluently enough. Also Spanish, Portugese, Russian and Japanese."

He looked at her with obvious disbelief. „Liar."

„I don't lie. Besides. I love learning languages. Portuguese is my favorite."

„Impressive, Granger."

„Thank you."

„I use the fucking translation charm."

„Is there really need to cuss so much? Every other word you produce makes me want to wash your mouth with soap."

He threw his head back and laughed out loud while Hermione only smirked.

* * *

„We can only say what is by now fairly obvious. The protesters are unrelenting and they recently started demanding Potter be named the minister of magic."

Harry took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose while listening to Kingsley. The number of protesters was sky-high, climbing towards several thousands.

„I hope they realise how their supposed ideals clash with their demands. Just because a thousand of them ask for Harry to be the new minister does not mean the rest of the wizarding world agrees. Democracy, right."

Hermione was shocked once she heard demands the protesters asked of the ministry.

Malfoy huffed. „Well that's just it, isn't it? Now we know what's going on."

The room turned towards him, expecting a more elaborate answer.

He caught on.

„Well, since none of them obviously grasp the concept of democratic elections, we should assume half of those people out there, if not more, are there for an entirely different reason. I know we all had our doubts about the Reformists starting the demonstrations, but I think this confirms it. I suggest taking random twenty, thirty people and interviewing them in order to trace back the initiator."

„Yes, my thoughts exactly. The first lot was most likely pack of some random blokes they paid od maybe a British fraction of their movement, but the more protesters gathered, the higher the interest was- more and more people started looking at the demos as something worth participating in."

„So what exactly does this mean for us?"

„I don't mind giving my chair up in favor of Potter and-„

Before Harry could protest, Malfoy broke in.

„Absoleutely not. If we consent to this, it will give them power. For them, it will be the ultimate weapon for manipulation. „

The six people seated in high-back chairs in Kingsleys office nodded in unison. The situation was extremely delicate, they knew. If they rounded up the protesters, in eyes of the nation it would seem like oppression, but if they idly sat by and did nothing, another attack might occur.

„I say there ain't nothing wrong with a lil' bit of brute force. It will seem a bit exaggerated, yea, but I would rather the people hated us than another one of those bombings occured, am I right?"

Seamus Finnigan worked for the ministry for about as long as Hermione did. He was a brilliant Auror, but sometimes, Hermione thought he was a bit on the thick side.

„No, actually, once we lose the little trust from people we have left, it will be an all out battle, just like in France. Let's learn from their mistakes, shall we?"

Seamus huffed, obviously feeling misunderstood and underappreciated. He always though his ideas were the way to go, only thing is, they almost never were.

„Then, tell us, oh wise one, what are we to do?" he mocked.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoys upper lip twitch for just a fraction of a second and it fuelled her with white, hot rage. She cleared her throat and sat straighter in her chair to subconsciously appear more intimidating, or at least that what said in Witch weekly. Not that she read those trash magazines, but what else to do at hair dressers?

„First of all, we need to nip this in a bud. We should have a long time ago, if you ask me. Until the war rages on in France, we have no choice but to fix their crisis first in hopes of setting an example to our own protesters."

Seamus narrowed his eyes at her „What you on about? There is no war in France."

Malfoy laughed, throwing his head back over the seat.

„How dumb are you, Finnigan?"

It wasn't surprising for Hermione to hear insult coming from out of his mouth, but he almost exclusively stuck to her with the exception of Harry on occasion, so she wasn'r expecting the jab. She once confronted him about being the only one he made fun of, thinking it had something to do with her heritage and his opinion of her, but he said she was 'the only one with enough brain cells to understand his humour..Barely, but still'. That was the first time she punched him in the arm. It became sort of habit of hers after he told her it was just her way of compensating for not having come up with a retort.

„Malfoy! No need for insults" Kingsley interrupted before turning his head to Seamus „Fin, the war in France is far from over and it seems it is just at our doorstep. Just because there are no conventional battles with armies and spells, that doesn't mean there won't be, because they've been preparing for it for quite some time now. The violence spreads like wildfire and I can assure you that the real fight is just before us if we don't do something about this."

* * *

Fin.

Here you go. Hope you like it. If you do like it, I'm willing to continue :)

They are my all-time favorite pairing and I've been meaning to write a fic starring the two of them but I feel like there are so many much more talented and generally better authors then I am and so I was hesitant to publish anything by now.. But I do really love them and have so many ideas and have decided to share my imagination with you after all. I apologize if there were some faults with my grammar or vocabulary, English is not my native language so I sometimes struggle, but try to be as correct in writing as possible!

Please, I LOVE hearing your thoughts. Even if you don't like it. I appreciate criticism so don't be afraid to give me some pointers.

Also, M for a reason, meaning, there will be sexually explicit content somewhere along the story.

Yours truly,

GS.


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